Tag Archives: assumptions

(A note on Emma’s post. Because this is a fictitious dialogue that Emma wrote, for clarity’s sake, I asked her if it was okay to put the Autistic person’s words and thoughts in italics and the non autistic’s words in quotation marks. She agreed. My part of the conversation is in parentheses.)

For today’s blog post, let’s pretend you are the Autistic one and I should be the non autistic.

“Oh dear! Why are you hurting yourself?”

(I asked Emma whether the Autistic person could use spoken language to speak.)

You can’t speak and I will talk for both of us, it will be more authentic that way. Maybe you talk, but not with the words that best describe what’s in your mind.

“I don’t understand, do you want to go outside? Why are you biting yourself? Does that mean you do?”

You are thinking about expectations and how hitting yourself takes away the pain of not being understood and unable to say the words that will help.

“Here! We will go outside. It’s a beautiful day.”

I don’t want to go outside. I want to read a story.

Pointless bottling emotions of endless frustration cause words to wither in the recesses of the mind. Biting becomes the only way to stay rooted, but causes everyone watching to respond in loud voices of angry fear. Until there is understanding, you are alone in the terrible confusion of other people’s voices that are louder than yours.

Caution is needed whenever we decide we know what is in the mind of another human being.

Nothing vanishes without questioning Merlin’s participation in the disappearance. He never admits to wrong-doing, but instead greets the attention with purrs. Even dog lovers fall under Merlin’s spell, charming the most biased minds to rethink what they had assumed true of all cats.

Merlin is unusual because he plays fetch and follows his favorite humans around with devotion. If you don’t like cats it is because you have not yet met our Merlin.

But if you ever lose something, don’t blame Merlin. He had nothing to do with it.

There were few things that led us more astray than the idea of autism being a developmental delay. Last week Emma wrote, “Autism is not a developmental delay, rather it is a different road entirely.” I was reminded of this last night as I watched a video from 2006 when we took Emma, who was then four-years old, to meet the late Stanley Greenspan. (This post is not about Stanley Greenspan or his method. His name is brought up only because of the video that inspired this post.)

Watching that video last night was brutal. The private hell of regret is a cruel place to linger. Emma described her experience of watching the video last night as “wading into the marsh of worry and fear, but quiet love was there even when the days were dark.” In typical Emma-fashion she generously and compassionately reminded me that it was not all an unmitigated hell. Unable to communicate her complex and insightful thoughts with spoken language, she languished for years in an abyss of being constantly underestimated and misunderstood. Because people assumed she spoke what she intended and meant, she was penalized for the words she managed to utter. “Do you want to go fast or slow?” “Do you want to stop or go?” “Do you want to open the door or close it?”

Again and again the video shows us making assumptions about her actions. We assume she has no interest in engaging. We assume she doesn’t want to spend time with us. We assume she is “in her own world.” We make assumptions and we behave according to those mistaken beliefs. We believed each word was a milestone, paving the way for more language acquisition. We believed it made sense. Lay the foundation, create a strong base of words for more to follow… Use your words, use your words, use your words…

The assumption that her spoken language represented her comprehension and intelligence and therefore we needed to push for more was never disputed. This idea of a developmental delay bled into every single aspect of her being. It was believed that her speech was delayed, as were her fine and gross motor skills. Therapies were structured around this concept. All held the promise that if we did intensive, ongoing therapy she would one day, catch up, particularly if we did this during that brief window of opportunity, before she turned three, and then four, maybe if we were lucky, we hoped, the window would still remain open at five, what about six? At the time we didn’t question any of this. Had we known then that she probably already knew how to read, had we understood that what she said, was not representative of her intelligence or indicative of what she understood or knew, if we’d known that autism was not a developmental delay, but rather a “different road entirely”, it would have changed the path we proceeded down.

As it was, we did not know. We listened to the many professionals we consulted. Well meaning professionals, often incredibly kind and thoughtful, a few even brilliant, but none, not a single one ever mentioned the concept of a body/mind disconnect or how that might apply to our daughter. It never once occurred to me that maybe, just maybe what she said was not what she intended to say. It did not enter my mind that when she didn’t answer a question it was because she knew the answer, but couldn’t say the words, this thought, this idea was not something I even knew to consider. We would learn about all of this much, much later and when we did hear these ideas, it came from the most unexpected source – our own daughter, Emma. Not only was she the person we least expected to enlighten us, but she did so, not through spoken language, but by typing. Eight years ago, I don’t know that I would have believed any of this, let alone that Emma would write about all of this in such detail, as she has in these posts:

Parents who are just getting a diagnosis for their young children have so many more resources available to them than we had in 2004. The most important being, blogs written by Autistic people of all ages, non-speakers, speakers, semi-speakers and everyone in between. It is the writings and friendships I now am fortunate enough to enjoy, that have helped me more than anything else. One day I hope the professionals parents are introduced to will be Autistic professionals.

My friend Bridget of the blog, It’s Bridget’s Word said to me, “The ‘delay’ concept is a trap. Development is not linear no matter how many folk whose livelihood depends on timetables try to make it.”

My friend Ibby, educator and author of the blog, Tiny Grace Notes, who is like family to me, said, “Speaking now as an education professor: “developmental delay” is an actual category under the IDEA which is not allowed to be used after the age of eight. The purpose of it was to give people with conditions in which they might “catch up” a chance to do so, and the doctors more time to pinpoint their diagnostics if not. If you look at the lists for most states of what conditions might cause “developmental delay” to be diagnosed before age 5 (as it has to be in most states) it makes some sense as being this sort of thing. Autism is not a “delay” but a condition causing atypical (as opposed to delayed but still on the same track of typical) development.”

Ibby added, “In short, this is not only dangerous and unhelpful but technically ignorant even if separated from the consequences.”

So what are the consequences of believing autism is a developmental delay?

Well, for us it meant constantly comparing our daughter to her non autistic peers (using their development, and not hers, as the ideal). It meant pursuing all kinds of therapies that never questioned the push for spoken language. It meant not considering AAC devices, because she “had language.” It meant encouraging my daughter to “use your words.” It meant asking her to focus on things that made it impossible for her to concentrate on what was being taught. It meant looking at her through the lens of deficits, so much so that they became blinders shutting out everything else.

There are so many things Emma can do, that I cannot. Her mind, as she so beautifully described it, is a “wonder, channel changing, multi-screened on fast forward” thing of beauty that defies all limits placed upon it. My daughter amazes me every, single day. As always, Emma said it best and it bears repeating, “Autism is not a developmental delay, rather it is a different road entirely” and what an amazing road it is!

This morning I had an idea, which turned out to be something I thought was a good idea, only to find that what might seem like a good idea to me, is not necessarily a good idea to my daughter, and the reasons why were not something that ever occurred to me.

I am continually surprised by the insights Emma, so patiently, gives me and am reminded again and again that my assumptions limit my views. Thank you Emma for giving me permission to post our conversation.

Ariane: I thought we could begin the day by discussing who you might like to interview and about what topic?

Emma: Is the way here, thinking, knowing, and asking about another, helpful?

Ariane: I think it’s interesting and certainly can be helpful to get to know other people’s experiences of life. Asking is a great way to understand another’s perspective. Who would you like to interview?

Emma: Using questions to sing truths meaningfully speaks to all.

Ariane: That’s so true! Music is a universal language that can transcend words.

Emma: What did those we cannot ask, say?

Ariane: Who are you thinking of, Emma?

Emma: Those who cannot speak and have no one who believes in their ability to communicate in other ways.

Ariane: Here’s the thing though, we can ask. We may not get an answer we understand, but we can still ask and I think that’s the beginning, right? We ask anyway and then do everything we can to understand the answer, even if it’s not in spoken language or in ways we understand at first.

Emma: Understanding that all human beings want connection is natural and fundamentally human.

Ariane: I agree. So Em, what was it like before you were able to type?

Emma: Days bloated with tears, frustration, anxiety and raging questions that only made daily living harder.

Ariane: Ah… can you tell me more?

Emma: Thinking and wanting to ask questions, but knowing the words would come out wrong was too painful, best to silence asking than to be in the smothering feelings of tremendous frustration.

Ariane: I imagine interviewing someone must be hard, even now that you can type. Would you say that’s true?

Emma: Sometimes ease is not an option.

Ariane: You do not need to ask any questions unless you choose to, Emma, I wasn’t considering any of this when I first introduced the idea. I’m sorry. What else should we do right now?

Emma: How about a conversation using music and no words?

Ariane: Great idea!

Some of the instruments Emma chose for us to use in our “conversation.”

When I first heard the words “presume competence” I had no idea what that meant. I cobbled together some ideas of what I’d read and thought it meant and did my best to put them into action. I did a great deal of “acting as if” and reminded myself, when my daughter wandered off in the middle of my explaining something to her, to keep talking anyway. When she didn’t seem to look at whatever it was I was showing her I pretended that I knew she was taking it all in. I pretended I believed, even when I didn’t. And when my energy was depleted I would not place demands on either of us. If I wasn’t able to take actions that were centered in presuming competence then I tried not to take any actions at all.

In the beginning the best I could do to show a presumption of competence was to read age appropriate books to her. This was when Emma was eight years old. I still remember the first book I read that wasn’t considered “young” for her age. It was a biography of Balto, the Siberian Husky who raced through a blizzard in whiteout conditions delivering a much needed serum saving countless people sick with diphtheria in Alaska. After Balto, I read a biography of Helen Keller specifically for children and then, because Emma seemed to enjoy it so much, we read the autobiography of Helen Keller, all the Mary Poppins books, followed by The Wizard of Oz, Alice in Wonderland, The Secret Garden, The Tale of Despereaux, Winn Dixie, Bridge to Terabithia, Little Women and on and on we went.

At first I was unsure whether she was even listening, let alone enjoying any of these books. But one night as she settled into bed, and when I didn’t pull out a book, Emma sat up and said very clearly and distinctly, “Helen Keller.” Emma was not typing yet, so I wasn’t completely sure she really wanted me to read Helen Keller or if she was just saying the name because it was what I’d been reading. I distinctly remember questioning whether she really wanted me to read the book because it interested her or because this was just part of an established routine and then I had a moment of guilt for doubting her.

As I said, Emma wasn’t typing yet, so there was little we could point to that backed up our decision to presume competence. There was no “evidence” to suggest what we were doing had anything to do with anything other than a hope and a wish. As presuming competence is not typically done in the general population or at any of the schools she went to, we were definitely doing things differently. There were times when I doubted what we were doing. There were times I didn’t believe. There were times I wondered – what if we’re wrong about all of this. What if what everyone says is true, really is? What if? What if?

In the end I just kept coming back to the thought that presuming competence harmed no one, but to not presume competence and to be wrong would do tremendous damage. As time went on and it became clear just how many mistakes we had made, I became more determined than ever to err on the side of support, encouragement and believing in her rather than the other way around. It is strange that the focus is so often on all that is challenging, rather than encouraging all that is not. Often that thought was the only thought that kept me moving forward. Sometimes one idea, just a single idea is all it takes.

To presume competence became a living amends and a way of life. At the very least it is something I can do that is not going to add another item to that lengthy list of mistakes made.

Over the past few years I’ve written about presuming competence as I have come to understand it, ‘here,’ ‘here,’ ‘here,’ and ‘here‘. Over the years my definition continues to shift or, perhaps more accurately I should say, my ability to practice presuming competence continues to shift. I still grapple with whether I am going far enough when I presume competence, though the simplest definition, is also the best one, which is that we presume all human beings are capable of learning if given the right supports and accommodations. But many want to know what that means for a specific person they know or are working with. What are those supports and accommodations?

There are a couple of universal things I have found extremely helpful. (I’m hoping others will add what they’ve found universally helpful as well as specifics that may be particular to just one or two.) The first is being respectful of the person and speaking to them as one would speak to any human being regardless of whether they use spoken language or not. It may take some getting used to, because unlike someone who uses spoken language easily, you may not get a spoken reply, or you may get a spoken response that you cannot make sense of. Either way, I have found, speaking to my daughter (and I’m now talking about before we knew all that she knows and before she was typing with us) as I would any person her age, was critical. Explaining to her what was going on, what was going to happen next, what we would do if something we expected to happen didn’t, and including her in any and all conversations that were taking place in her presence, has been key.

In situations where a meeting is occurring, as might happen during an IEP meeting at school or with a team of therapists or with a doctor and nurse, I have found the single best thing I can do is include her in the conversation. (I have made many mistakes over the years, so please do not interpret this as my suggesting I do all of this perfectly without ever stumbling along the way.) So, for example, when we arrive at the place we are having the meeting, I will speak to her as I would anyone her age. I will ask if she’s comfortable in a particular chair or if she’d prefer sitting in a different one, perhaps away from direct light, or one that might have a cushion. Today I always sit to her right so that I can hold her keyboard for her as she types. I make sure she knows why we are all gathered.

If others begin to speak about her (as they almost always do and will) I will then politely remind them that she is right here and has no issues with her hearing. Emma wrote during one such meeting, “My hearing is excellent.” These days I hold the keyboard for her to write questions she may have or to add whatever she might like. As Emma now types with us daily and is more used to this, she will often initiate a question or comment without me asking her if she wants to add something. But in the past, if the people at the meeting continued to speak about her as though she weren’t present or seemed completely confused by my insistence on including her, (which many undoubtedly will) I might then say something about how hurtful and disrespectful it is to be spoken of in this way and that I’d appreciate it if they would rephrase their language.

If the talk becomes an endless list of deficits I would ask them to identify her many talents and assets and point out that constant criticism is unhelpful and destroys self-confidence and self-esteem. If they are silent (as has happened to us in the past) and seem incapable of naming any assets, I would give them a few opportunities to learn and do better, but at a certain point, professionals should be held accountable for what they are doing and how they are behaving. If after several opportunities, they continue to disregard my daughter and seem incapable of treating her with respect and seem convinced that she cannot understand, they do not deserve to be paid for their “services”.

Another helpful tool is a yes/no laminated card. I used to carry one or several around with me and would ask Emma to verify any yes or no question, because she often says “yes,” but means “no”. I found that what she pointed to with the laminated card, was almost always correct, while the spoken answer wasn’t as much. I have since seen iPhone and iPad apps that people use, which are almost exactly the same as the laminated card I once used. A friend of mine holds up her index fingers from each hand and says, “yes” and gestures with the one index finger, or “no” and then gestures with the other index finger. I remember being shocked that this simple method could produce accurate answers and yet it did. Obviously if there are profound physical issues, this may not be possible, so the laminated card might work better as one can position it so that a large range of physical movement will not be required.

The following is a conversation Emma, Richard and I had with a friend of ours who works at a school. (DF = dear friend) I have paraphrased DF’s part of the conversation because a) I cannot type as quickly as she speaks and b) she was thinking out loud at certain points, so I just wrote the gist of what she was saying. All of Emma’s words are what she typed. Both DF and Emma gave permission to have their words posted here.As Emma wrote – “People need to understand.”

DF: I’ve been thinking about your presentation (click ‘here‘ to watch Emma’s presentation) and the body/mind disconnect that you talked about during your presentation last week. I was thinking about being respectful and making faces back at you and I know you’re smart, but I was afraid that if you can’t control your body and don’t mean to make faces, is it disrespectful to make faces back?

Emma: Making faces is fun communication in my chosen language.

DF: Is it also the same for the words you sometimes use? So, if you’re saying a word like “peacock”, is it respectful to repeat it back and play with words that way?

Emma: Playing in all ways is my favored way of interacting with people even when they don’t speak silly.

DF: Sometimes I feel bad because I want to ask you questions because I want to know you better, but I don’t want to ask because I know how hard work it is for you to answer.

Emma: Talkers always want words, as though everyone stated exactly what they meant.

Richard & Ariane: (we both asked similar questions, but in different ways, this is a combined version of what we asked) Emma, I’m curious… when you say “peacock” sometimes you are singing in an operatic voice, but other times you are saying the word over and over while also saying “peek-a-boo” so I’m wondering are you mimicking the bird or are you playing around with the words, “peek-a-boo”?

Instead of pointing to the “y” or “n” for yes or no, Emma pointed to the letter, “w”. This led to a quick back and forth between us, talkers, about how Emma rarely just answers yes or no when given the opportunity to, but instead writes much more. I even then joked to Emma, “Em, that was a yes or no question. You can just hit “y” for yes or “n” for no!”

Emma: Word play is joyful and I think obvious joy is had with both associations. Decision to sing while thinking about birds with peek-a-boo tail feathers brings happy feelings.

Ariane: Oh my gosh, Emma! That’s so amazing. The tail feathers look like hundreds of eyes and they are only fanned out at particular times! So this wasn’t a yes or no question after all!

We then discussed peacocks, their beautiful plumage and how we often thought we were asking a yes or no question, only to realize how wrong this assumption is.

DF: Okay, so here’s a problem that many teachers have at school. A lot of times kids your age or older have fascinations with things that talkers think are inappropriate. Things like a teenager who likes Teletubbies or wants to carry around a stuffed animal or wants to talk about Thomas the Tank Engine. We want to be respectful and treat that kid like a mature teenager, but we don’t feel comfortable talking about Teletubbies or Thomas the Tank Engine.

Emma: This is their fear of indulging a mind that they suspect is simple, but someone who is known to be brilliant would be thought eccentric.

DF: Should I defend their right to explore their interest in school?

Emma: Yes, expressions are not threatening and harm none.

*Quick aside – using interests as the gateway to other academics is how many homeschool/unschool .

Richard: In the past, while watching you type, you’ve made faces at me and I’ve made faces back and was told not to do that. But I’ve seen you making faces and you still are able to type, should we feel free to make faces with you while you’re typing?

Emma: This is a difficult answer because I prefer to make faces, but I know how much you want to talk.

R: What I meant was, do you enjoy having someone make faces back while you’re typing or would you prefer they did not?

E: I would love to just make faces and not type.

*Another quick aside – so this is the ongoing struggle of all parents it seems to me. It’s those grey areas when we ask our children to do something, even when they may not always want to. For us, we put boundaries around typing sessions, so there is a clear beginning, middle and end. As with most parents, we hope our decision is the right one.

Ariane: Talk to me about when you say to guests, “good-bye”. Often you say it shortly after they’ve arrived, sometimes immediately after they’ve finished dinner. You can clear the room in seconds because they think you want them to leave. But do you want them to leave?

Emma: Saying good-bye to some is because I think they need to go, but other times I am sad and say it because I don’t want them to leave.

*Emma then made a sad face and pretended to cry.

Richard: That’s a good face to make when you’re sad that they must go!

DF, Richard and I circled back to DF’s question about students who have interests in things that the non-autistic educators deem not age appropriate.

Emma: It’s hypocritical though, because I was often given very young books, more suited for a toddler.

I asked Emma what image she wanted with this post, she typed, “google – “talking” and then chose this.

I began this blog in April, 2010 as a document of what I thought would surely be our finding a cure for my daughter’s autistic neurology. At the time I did not question that this was a worthy goal and one I should be pursuing. At the time, all I could see were the things challenging her, making her life more difficult with no upside. She was, I thought, the victim of a neurology that caused her nothing but pain and suffering. It was not until I was confronted with the joys, things that I had witnessed right from the beginning of her life, but, after receiving her diagnosis then ignored and dismissed, that I began to appreciate the more complex truth about autism and what that might mean to her. I could not have imagined that four years later my daughter would be posting her profound insights about life, her neurology and the impact society has on her, not because we found a cure, but because we didn’t.

For those of you who have read this blog from the beginning, or poked around and read a post or two from those early days or those who’ve looked through the archives of the pieces published on Huffington Post, you will see a transformation. It is not a transformation of my daughter’s neurology as was once my goal, but a transformation of our thinking, and as a result the impact our thinking has had, not just on her self-esteem, but on our ideas about ourselves, individually and as a family. We had to examine and question our own neurology and the challenges we face as a result, before we were able to fully appreciate hers.

We do not take credit for who she is becoming. We cannot. My daughter is strong, stronger and wiser than I have any right to claim influence on. While it has certainly helped that we no longer fight against her neurology, but instead encourage, support and provide her with the help she needs to flourish, it would be wrong to suggest who she is and is becoming is all due to us. Had we not found people who believed completely in her, people who saw beneath the words she spoke, the way her body moved, had they not shown us and encouraged us to question our beliefs and set them aside, to look beyond what we thought we were seeing and what that meant, we would still be lost in the horror of what we once thought and were told “autism” meant.

This concept, that of helping an Autistic child flourish to be all they autistically can be, is counter to all that we non autistics are told and urged to believe. So much of the focus is on making our Autistic children behave and appear less autistic-like. Appearing non autistic is the emphasis and the fact that this comes at a price, is not often spoken of or even considered among the non autistic population. Many people see Autistic people, witness their inability to say what they feel and think, and believe there is nothing more to see. They come to conclusions, having witnessed the person’s movement, their facial expressions or lack of, and believe what they see and what they then conclude is the “truth”. Assumptions can create all kinds of misunderstandings that hurt a population who do not follow the unspoken rules of a majority.

(Trigger for abuse contained in links) Misunderstandings that then lead to abuse. Beliefs, like this and this are expressed and taken by many as fact, regardless of how misinformed, regardless of how shoddy the reporting, which further harm people and children, like my daughter. The cure I seek now is for our society. A cure for intolerance, sameness at any cost, and for those who seek to silence those who cannot speak with spoken language, but who have a great deal to say through the words they write, is what I dream of.

One of the many down sides of non autistic neurology is how we struggle mightily to blend in, to fit in at all and any cost. We strive to be better than, to keep up appearances, to cover our awful feelings of insecurity and discomfort with pretense and by controlling those around us. Some become obsessed with money and power and yet once they have both, they use it to further separate themselves. Where and what is the cure for that?

This is the journey I now find myself on. There are others farther ahead, I am doing my best to follow. There are many who learned all of this sooner than I did. There are some who will read this and because they have been on this road longer, will see how far I still have to go, but this is a trek, the best sort of trek, filled with discovery and beauty. Emma is leading the way now. I really am just trying my best to keep up, while remaining open to all that I still do not know, but am eager to learn.

Imagine for a moment if you had an idea. It was an idea that was in keeping with a conversation taking place by others in the same room as you, but when you opened your mouth to share your thought, instead of using words that would convey what you were thinking you said something that sounded like, “Peacock!” Not only did you say “Peacock!” but your voice was loud, some would suggest you were shouting, even though you hadn’t meant to shout, even though you weren’t thinking of a peacock, that was the sound that came from your mouth.

Now imagine that, in addition to this, you smiled and maybe laughed too. Maybe you laughed because as you said what sounded like “peacock” you were also hit with a memory of a time that was funny, or maybe saying those two syllables made you happy, maybe the act of saying them made you laugh, or maybe you laughed, but nothing struck you as funny, the laughter was merely a response to anxiety or maybe it wasn’t any of these things. Maybe the laughter just escaped from your mouth, unbidden.

Whatever the “truth”is about why the person suddenly shouts what sounds like “peacock!” and then laughs, while others are having a conversation about global warming or are discussing their concerns with a project they’re working on or are talking to each other about what to have for dinner, they are unlikely to assume the peacock shouter is listening to their conversation, much less that they have anything relevant to add. In fact, the people having the conversation may regard this outburst as an intrusion, or an unwelcome distraction. Or maybe they don’t, instead they stop their conversation and smile, or laugh and say something like, “is that funny?” “Are you thinking of something funny?” or “Oh! Do you like peacocks?” and when all of this is met with silence or some other utterance unrelated to both peacocks and the conversation they were having, they continue with what they were saying to the other person.

Richard is good about saying to me, “we should ask Emma” or “Emma, what do you think?” or “Let’s find out if Emma has anything to add” or just turning to Emma and saying, “Hey Em, we’re talking about _____.” Including Emma in our conversations is not something we regularly did. It’s not that we never did, it just wasn’t something we regularly did. Including Emma in conversations was not something we once considered doing, not because we didn’t want to, but because it didn’t occur to us that she was listening and understanding, much less had something she might like to add. This is where her being able to write her thoughts has changed everything.

Once we began presuming her competent we began including her, but as she didn’t have a way to express herself, the – “do you have something you want to add? or so what do you think?” questions were not asked of her. But once she began writing, all bets were off. Suddenly and quite dramatically her words propelled me to reconsider even more what I’d once thought. All of my assumptions, all those misunderstandings, I now view differently. Now when Emma shouts, “peacock” I do not assume she is interested in talking about the colorful bird. She may be, but she may not be. But and this is a big but, I’m able to ask her and she is able to reply.

Emma has written often that the words that come out of her mouth do not always reflect her thoughts. I used to think that whatever she said out loud, was indicative of what she was capable of and, in addition, was what she intended to say. My misunderstanding of what was going on for her made for a great many misunderstandings. Had Emma not found a way to communicate, had she not found a way to write what she knows, thinks and feels, many people would not question that her spoken language is representative of her mind. They would not be able to believe that she has the complex and brilliantly observant mind that she has. For most people this is a very difficult concept to fully grasp. It has taken me daily exposure to such a mind to begin to stop making incorrect assumptions about not just my daughter, but all people I meet who do not speak or whose language is not an accurate reflection of their thoughts.

A few days ago someone asked Emma, “How did you learn to read and spell?” Last night, in response to this question Emma wrote, “I learned by watching the words my mom read to me.” She went on to write, “I was able to read many years ago and could write, but didn’t have any way to show it.”

I asked, “Were you able to read as a very little girl?”

Emma wrote, “Yes.”

“As a toddler?”

“Yes,” Emma wrote again.

What is interesting about this is that for years, when Emma was very young, I assumed she didn’t like being read to because when I tried she would grab the book, insist on flipping the pages faster than I could read them, and generally seemed (to me) uninterested. But from what she wrote last night, it suggests I was incorrect about these early assumptions or at least was partly incorrect. I am no longer shocked by all that I didn’t understand. It no longer surprises me to find out, even now, how wrong I was and continue to be about so much when it comes to my daughter.

Because Emma did not sit quietly while I read to her, I thought she didn’t like being read to. Because Emma preferred holding the book and would turn the page before I had time to finish reading the words I assumed she wasn’t interested in the story. Because Emma protested if I tried to take the book from her to continue reading, I assumed she wanted to be left alone. Because Emma seemed distracted while I read, I believed she didn’t like the story, didn’t care for the book, didn’t like books in general.

How would I have viewed her various therapies, preschool, and later grade school, had we understood that she already knew how to read at such a young age? Our decisions on how to proceed, our opinions regarding what others told us, so matter-of-fact, so sure of themselves… who knew how wrong they all were? How wrong we were?

People say things like – parents know their child better than anyone. In our case no one knew our child better than anyone. We didn’t. All those therapists who worked with Emma didn’t. All her teachers, everyone who came in contact with her, not a single person during those early years ever said, “I’m guessing she already knows how to read” or “maybe she already knows, but we haven’t found a way to help her show us all she knows.” Emma’s need to move, her inability to consistently say out loud what she intends, her deep need for sensory input, her attempts to regulate herself, none of that was understood by anyone, including us.

Had we not begun to find ways for Emma to communicate through the written word, had we insisted on her “speaking,” we would continue to be in the dark. All the things emphasized in school for a child like Emma who is physically capable of articulating words made us believe spoken language was what we needed to concentrate on. What we are seeing is that the less we focus on her speaking and the more we focus on her writing, the more she is speaking.

“Hey Em, do you want to put the smaller string in your backpack, just so you have it?” I asked as we headed down to meet her school bus this morning.

And as I sat nearby watching, I marveled at how surprised I was by this question. In part because she was asking a question, something Emma does a great deal of when she is working with Soma, but not so much with me yet. I can’t tell you how much I look forward to that…

My surprise was not just limited to the fact that she was asking a question though, it was also because I often wonder how she knows all the things she knows. “The Grammy’s?” I found myself thinking. “How does she even know about the Grammy’s? Where did she see anything about the Grammy’s?” “Richard and I didn’t watch the Grammy’s. I can’t even tell you when the Grammy’s were.

After Soma told Emma that she had watched the Grammy’s, Soma asked Emma where she’d seen them.

Emma wrote, “At the airport TV.”

The airport TV? Seriously? I didn’t even see a television, let alone notice what was on. When we arrived at the airport we checked our bag, went through security and went looking for our gate, and when we finally found it, I don’t remember seeing a television anywhere near the seats we finally found to wait for our flight. What else has she seen in passing? What else would she like to know about? What things would she be interested in learning about?

I write all of this, because Richard and I often ask each other, “But where did she learn that?” or “How does she know about that?” And, well… this is, but one answer. There is information everywhere and my daughter is picking up information all the time.

I used to assume there was an input issue with learning, but my daughter continues to defy this idea. An output issue? Yes. Input? Evidently that’s my issue, not hers.

Someone asked Emma what she’d recommend they say in answer to the question, “how high functioning is your child?”

Emma wrote, “I recommend being patient with them and saying that functioning labels will almost always give the wrong idea to those who are trying to understand.”

I have thought about Emma’s response a great deal since she wrote it and asked her if it would be okay to write a bit more about this, specifically in relation to some of the issues Emma confronts on a daily basis. Emma gave me permission.

It is inaccurate to say Emma does not speak. She does speak and her words are accurate in that we did pass all of those things in exactly the order she listed. In fact, a few times when I protested because I did not see a red car pass us, after Emma said, “red car,” Emma will correct me and point to a parking lot father away that I had not noticed, where there was a red car. If there is one thing I have come to understand, it is that my daughter is never wrong about such things. If she says, “red sweater” it is not a fantasy, it is because she just saw someone wearing a red sweater, even if I didn’t see them or notice.

Emma has never lined up toys, but she lines up words. To those of us new to all of this, it can seem strange, even bizarre, but it is her way of taking care of herself and is calming to her, please read more about Emma’s thoughts on self-care ‘here‘. However to people who do not know Emma, they listen to her, try to engage her in conversation and then make assumptions about her intelligence based upon the list of words she utters. If they try to engage in a conversation about the red car we just passed, Emma will typically ignore them and continue with her list.

When it comes to “functioning” labels, people who try to have a conversation with Emma will, typically, come to the conclusion she is “moderately” or “severely” autistic. People take this to mean she is “low” functioning. But if someone reads a post, like this ‘one’ that Emma wrote, pointing to one letter at a time on her stencil board, they may assume she is “high functioning” or they may come to some other conclusion, but they will not assume she is “severe”.

Until we were able to help Emma tell us what she was thinking, we had no idea what she was capable of. A little over a year ago her school sent home “reading comprehension” work. Emma was unable to do any of it. At the time we tried a number of different things, but still Emma was unable to answer the questions as they were written and it was assumed she did not understand the simple story given to her. We had no idea how completely wrong we were in our assumptions. It was the same with the ongoing insistence that she read out loud and that when she could not, this also then meant that she was unable to read silently or at all.

The same thing happened with simple addition and subtraction. It was assumed Emma could not do the math sheets being given, meanwhile she not only knew addition and subtraction, but knew multiplication and division, despite having never been formally taught either one. These assumptions were repeated when it came to telling time and the concept of money or what a penny, nickel, dime or quarter were worth. At her IEP meetings it was assumed these “concepts” were too abstract and difficult for her to comprehend. None of us had any idea just how wrong we were.

I wrote about some of this ‘here‘ and ‘here‘. Now, just over a year later I re-read those older posts and am so grateful we know better. Knowing better has changed everything, but had someone told me just over a year ago that Emma would be writing the insightful, wise and incredibly philosophical posts for this blog that she has been recently, I would have been incredulous. As I’ve said before, this is much more an example of my neurological limitations than it is of anything else.

“I recommend being patient with them and saying that functioning labels will almost always give the wrong idea to those who are trying to understand.”

“It’s a simple program, but it’s not easy.” These were the words I remember someone saying to me during those first few weeks so long ago when I entered a 12-step program. As with most of the things people said during those first few years when everything was still a blur, I heard the words, but didn’t really understand or care what was meant. Not really. The slogans seemed trite and silly. I heard them, I read them, but I didn’t pay much attention to them other than to make fun of them. And then as the days of not acting on my addictions piled up and my head began to clear, as life continued along and I with it, I started to make sense of this phrase and so many more that were said during those early days.

Like everything in life, things are rarely how I expect them to be. The years since I walked into those recovery rooms have not unfolded as I thought they would. I am not doing what I imagined I would be doing, my life does not resemble the life I once led nor does it resemble the life I imagined for myself. All of it comes as a surprise. Perhaps the biggest is how much I have come to love so many of these slogans that I once viewed with contempt.

The things I learned in those early days of recovery are things I continue to apply to my life now: “Take it easy,” “Keep it simple,” “Practice the principles in all our affairs,” “Circumstances do not make us who we are, they reveal to us who we are,” “Don’t curse the darkness, light a candle,” “Compare and despair,” “We’re responsible for the effort, not the outcome,” “Change is a process, not an event,” “resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person will die,” “sorrow is looking back; worry is looking around; hope is looking forward,” “serenity is not freedom from the storm, but peace amid the storm,” “F.E.A.R. – False Evidence Appearing Real.”

There are too many program slogans to list here, but almost all of them can be applied to every aspect of my life today, particularly when it comes to autism. There is so much that I feel discouraged by when it comes to autism, what is said, what we are told, what is believed to be “true”. As I continue to learn, as my daughter continues to write, the farther away we drift from the commonly held beliefs about autism and my child and friends who are Autistic. I read articles written about autism and Autistic people and I recognize none of my friends, daughter or anyone I know. The articles and views seem completely disconnected from reality. I read what so many other parents say and I have to remember to remind myself that I once believed these things too.

Recently someone sent me the link to a book review of Naoki Higashida’s book The Reason I Jump. The review was written by someone who works in the field of autism and yet was incredulous that Naoki talks with such insight about his social interactions, speaks of feeling ashamed when his body does not cooperate with his mind. The reviewer wonders aloud what (if any) the implications are for others who are non-speaking and Autistic. Of everything written about Naoki’s book, this was the review that has continued to haunt me. Here is someone who has spent his life researching and working in the field of autism and yet, Naoki’s book comes as a surprise. How is this possible?

It’s possible because those who are in the field have been given incorrect information and then look for verification that align with what they’ve been told. Yet this bias is not how research should be done. Until we are willing to accept the idea that maybe, just maybe what we believe to be true is not, we will not be able to believe anything different. And as a result all of our Autistic children, friends and people will suffer the consequences.

Wretches and Jabberers, the not-to-be-missed documentary by Oscar Award winning and two-time Academy award-nominated filmmaker Gerardine Wurtzburg, follows two non-speaking Autistic men, Tracy Thresher and Larry Bissonnette as they travel the world, reaching out to other non-speaking Autistic people in an attempt to change public perceptions surrounding intelligence and autism.

I’ve written about the film ‘here‘, ‘here‘ and ‘here‘ and about meeting Tracy and Larry, ‘here‘, ‘here‘ and ‘here‘. I cannot emphasize enough how mind altering this documentary is. It is imperative people begin to examine their own ideas about what intelligence is and what that means, particularly as parents of children who may be similar to Larry and Tracy, who appear profoundly disabled or have difficulties with verbal communication. Tracy and Larry exemplify all that is thought to be “other” and yet, when they type, they are eloquent, often hilarious, articulate and philosophical, as well as insightful about society’s view of them. After watching Wretches and Jabberers, one cannot help but conclude we are all more alike than not. The divisions we perceive are shown as constructs of our own making. The biases we have towards those with disabilities is something we all must actively change.

A few months ago Tracy Thresher generously agreed to answer a few of my questions. What follows is our conversation, but as you read this, please think about questions you may have and leave them for me in the comments section or email me privately with them at: emmashopeblog@gmail.com. (Do tell me whether you prefer to remain anonymous as I will credit you with any questions I end up using, unless you prefer I do not.) I intend to submit this interview, once it’s finished, to Huffington Post and hope it might inspire people to reconsider their assumptions.

AZ: Tracy, how would you describe the documentary, Wretches and Jabberers?

TT: Our film catapulted me to realize my dream of traveling the world to educate, learn and change old attitudes of discrimination toward people of varying abilities. The Larry and Tracy duo illustrates how intelligence is often worked out in a much different way. Our journey takes us to places of enlightenment and our humanity, humor and intelligence comes shining through our typing. Our mission to spread the reality of our amazing intelligence through our typing is our way of promoting the Presumption of Competence dispelling myths. Our story is one that is a road trip for two friends who are in Larry’s words “more like you than not”.

AZ: “More like you than not” is such a wonderful description. So much of the literature surrounding autism is about the “deficits” of Autistic neurology compared to non Autistic neurology. Can you talk about the assets and the similarities?

TT: In my way of thinking, my experience initially was uncontrollable anger for the life I had trying to break through the misunderstanding in school. Kids can be brutally honest, reflecting the language that was the accepted norm in my childhood. Labeling kids is crippling. MR (mental retardation) on a diagnostic chart equates to NOT a candidate for the honor roll. Now I am able to communicate the reality of autism. I met Monk Hogen during the filming of “Wretches and Jabberers”, shining his wisdom on my autism. My true desire and purpose in life is breaking the walls of injustice down and my autism is the gift God gave me. I now focus on how I am connecting with all kinds of people through my work on the road. The high I feel in my own community is so wonderful, knowing that people want to know me. The man I am today is because my autism is the gift I was given to be a leader to anyone who has ever felt less than human based on their appearance. Martin Luther King knew that hurt and he took it to the mountain of peace. My mind is more like a Mensa candidate than I can type. My life is a testimony to the lesson of humanity. Like Larry typed “More like you than not” is the guiding principle to inclusion.

The anger on stage during my presentation in Japan was related to the lost opportunities in my education. I kept shouting out my automatics like “Look at me now! The kid you told one another to keep in isolation now is mentoring students which is healing salve to old wounds of injustice.” The other anger in Sri Lanka is more about the heat in the way it took my overly heated mix of perspiration soaking my clothing to extreme discomfort. Also, the popular foods in their culture are not in my comfort zone. Finland washed my anger, turning my heart to love of the climate. The cuisine helped too. Primarily, beautiful lands of countryside put my spirit at ease. Henna melted years of lost hope by crumbling away the feelings of isolating my heart to love.

People in the world often fear the paradox that autism usually presents. Larry and I mostly felt gracious vibes in our travels but the camera crew likely alters reality. To reflect on the cultural attitudes, the typing of my international friends is the true compass pointing to injustice.

AZ: For children who may be trying to cope with similar frustrations and anger, what do you suggest to them and their parents, teachers and therapists?

TT: This is my mission to show kids and their supports that putting communication to the top of their list of priorities is vitally cleansing to the mind. Releasing deep thoughts is the key to alleviating anxiety. Frustration leads the body to unproductive anger. Being able to show intelligent thought is the path to happier futures and true quality of life, leading to purpose. That is what I sought and found with typing.

AZ: Was there anything others might have done to help you when you were overwhelmed with anger?

Harvey and I have trust in our partnership. I need his firm yet kind support to stay on course with managing my autism. Harvey and I work well together. Typing is my outlet and open communication is the key. Long term shared goals helps to keep me on track. Harvey’s commitment to my communication is the big time dosing of calm energy that I need. The commitment to presuming competence is the major breeze of refreshing air to cooling anger.

AZ: You communicate by typing, but need someone to support your typing. Why is it necessary for you to have someone supporting you?

TT: Impulse to type out my most irritating automatics like going to radio stations or wcax news gets looping in my mind. Having good facilitators is helping me to slow my typing to think and connect to my inner thoughts. I also need high goal of working on fading physical support to be more independent and type with lessening support. Building trust is critical to fading.

One of the things I’ve felt particularly confused by is why my daughter sometimes resists communicating. My thinking has been – why would she resist doing the one thing that will help her get along in this world more than perhaps anything else? The other day, I had a moment of clarity. I came a step closer to “getting it”. And now, I think I understand. Not only do I think I understand, but I am able to identify and relate to that resistance, because, I realized, I do it too! There are a number of things I resist doing, even while knowing that if I just did them I’d feel better and would be able to weather the vicissitudes of daily life a bit better. I’d be happier, calmer, less anxious, and yet knowing this, intellectually understanding that this is true, does not make my resistance any less.

I know being mindful and in the present gives me clarity and a sense of calm, I do not otherwise have. I know this, and yet find it extremely difficult to be completely present for more than moments at a time. My daughter has little problem with this. In fact, Emma is far more comfortable in the moment than anywhere else. I remember when we were inundated with therapists coming and going during those early years of fear and panic. Richard and I used to comment on the irony that Emma was completely present and in the here and now far more easily than we were and yet we were constantly encouraging her to talk about tomorrow or yesterday or any number of other topics that had little to do with NOW. We were pushing her to move away from the bliss of this moment to join us in the fear and anxiety of the non-present moment, all for the sake of the larger picture, which in our minds was to have her join us in our world. Even though our world was fraught with expectations, hopes, dreams, wishes and the inevitable disappointment those things often bring.

We used to joke that if we could bottle what Emma came to naturally we would have no cause for worry. And that really is the crux of most conversations. They are usually not about the here and now. They are almost always about some other time, some other idea, some other person, some other concern that is not now. And yet…

I resist being in the present and Emma resists being pulled out of it. And yet, we non-Autistics continue to insist our world is better, or superior even as many spend thousands of dollars going on spiritual retreats, reading books about meditation and going to workshops to teach us how to “sit”. So the question I am now asking myself is this: Can I find the grey area of encouraging Emma to communicate with me, something that is difficult for her and pulls her from the bliss of now, while giving her plenty of time to be present and just be? And what about my own resistance? Can I learn to meet Emma in her blissful place of now and resist the urge to go off in my mind to somewhere else?

Of course there’s always a danger in interpreting my daughter’s behavior as any one thing. Her resistance, like mine, is probably made up of many things, and this could be just one reason. Or I may have this entirely wrong and her resistance is about something that hasn’t even occurred to me. Or perhaps it isn’t resistance at all and is something else or I may find, next time we type together and when I ask her why, she will tell me something I hadn’t considered. And that’s the beauty of all of this, I can’t and don’t know until she tells me. Until then it’s just speculation and me projecting my stuff onto her. So that’s more for me to be aware of – seeing when and if I do that and understanding that I am.